


A Certain Hush

by Jenwryn



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-24
Updated: 2009-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, how things have changed, since an angry kiss in an empty hallway hadn't gone at all how Mello had planned. <br/>[AU; Kira never happened]</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Certain Hush

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Anon (who wanted "lazy morning-in-bed fluff with a Kinder Surprise") over at the DN Kink Meme. ♥

Soft blankets and the comforting rustle of cotton sheets, warm skin against warm skin, and only the faintest touch of morning light permeating in through the folds of the curtain at the window. Mello listens to the hushed rise-fall-rise of his own breath, and the breath of the boy beside him. He keeps his lashes close to his cheeks, though, when Near touches his shoulder and whispers, “Are you awake?”

There's a certain hushed undertone to the boy's voice. Mello pushes closer against the pillow (the cotton carries Near's scent) to give himself time to stop the trembling that his heart does at the sound of it. He'd spent so long believing that all he wanted was to prove that he was better than Near – no, maybe not even that, maybe just for Near to show him a scrap of damn respect – that he's still having trouble adjusting himself to how much things have changed. How much things have changed, since a single, angry kiss in a dark hallway hadn't gone at all the way that Mello had planned it, and now here they are, somehow, together, in the heart of Europe, naked, and the sun coming up. It doesn't matter how incredibly adaptable Mello is, it's still gone fast enough to leave him more than a little bit dizzy. Mello wonders vaguely how long it will be before L bothers to track them down and demand to know why they've handed their cases over to an amused Matt, but most of all Mello just wonders if he has enough soul left to pay the price that such a hushed voice must be worth.

“I'm almost certain that you're awake, Mello,” Near says, a little petulantly now. The sheets rustle as the boy moves amongst them, his body pressing in closer against Mello's side, his hand moving along Mello's shoulder. Mello can't help but shiver when cool air slips in beneath dislodged blankets, and he opens his eyes when Near's bare skin slides against him so much more directly; the boy is sitting on him, his thighs to either side of Mello's hips, and his grey eyes unmistakably triumphant as they meet Mello's blinking gaze.

Mello takes a second to drink in the sight of him – such an expanse of milky skin, and the soft, downy hair that skims his arms and legs is gleaming in the creeping, newborn light. Mello wants to memorise every inch of him, every small blemish, every curl tucked in neatly between Near's legs; every aspect of him that Mello had already touched and kissed the night before, Near so malleable and so _willing_ beneath his hands. Mello can feel the heat in his stomach grow beneath the weight of the boy against him, and so he grins, and frowns, and grabs him by the waist to yank him back downwards and pull the blankets back up around them. “You're letting the cold air in,” he complains.

Near just wriggles a little, until he's lying flush on top of Mello. He has this look on his face, when he glances up from beneath his fringe, which makes Mello suspect that he has just done exactly what Near had presumed, no, had _hoped_, that he would do. Mello humphs a little at that – it doesn't matter that they've travelled half way across Europe together, he still has his pride – but he strokes his hands gently along Near's backbone anyway, counting out the vertebrae and liking the way that Near practically purrs in response. “Sleep well?” Mello murmurs, because it seems like the polite thing to ask, given the direction that his hands are already moving.

**

Near has always considered himself to be a quick learner, and it's not as though he hadn't _imagined _it before now, but he still hasn't quite managed to get his head around just how _nice _Mello's hands feel. He likes them, very much, when they're on him like this, wandering his skin as if it belongs to Mello too now. “Yes,” he says briefly, when Mello asks him if he'd slept well, because it's the truth, but the topic doesn't really interest Near very much now that he's awake, and he has a suspicion that Mello doesn't really want to know any more than that anyway. Near slides a little sideways. He likes how warm Mello is, too, and how Mello doesn't seem to object to having Near so close against him, even if Near himself had found it slightly strange at first. He lets his right leg slide down to rest between Mello's legs. He can feel Mello's dick against his thigh, not exactly hard, but not exactly soft either, and he likes that, too, though he hadn't been entirely sure that he would.

Mello raises his eyebrows, and rubs at Near's ankle with the arch of one of his feet.

“I bought you a present,” Near says, which is something that he had planned on saying the night before, but which he had forgotten, in the end, because there had been arriving and then there had been unpacking and then there had been, well, Mello, really.

“Oh?” says Mello, obviously only interested because the prospect of presents _always_ interests him; his attention is clearly much more focussed upon the way that his hands are encircling Near's bottom.

Near finds that rather attention-worthy too, and he can't help but press in against Mello, his hips moving almost of their own accord, and he can't help but wonder at how quickly he seems to have fitted into this, this _being touched_, this _touching_, this everything that is here and now, and beneath these blankets. He'd been afraid that he wouldn't be any good at this – but it's Mello, he supposes, and that makes all the difference. Near doesn't think he'd do this with anyone else. He's pretty sure he wouldn't want to. “Hmm,” he says, only just keeping track of what it is that he's even responding to. He slides lower, and nods his chin against Mello's chest. Mello has fine hair there, wisps of blond. Near's already decided that he likes it; likes to run his fingertips across it.

Near is reasonably sure that Mello never used to distract him this much, though. Maybe it's the nakedness. Or maybe Mello actually _has_ always distracted him this much, except that his distractedness had previously been a private matter, whereas now he knows that Mello can _tell_ when he's forgotten what it was that he was talking about, forgotten purely because he's more interested in the feel of Mello's skin beneath his fingers than he is in whatever it was that he himself had been saying. Therefore he's slightly embarrassed when Mello raises his eyebrows and looks at him expectantly. Near can feel his cheeks going pink, and so he ducks his head and kisses at Mello's chest as though that were what he had intended all along. Then he remembers, and he slides his hand along Mello's shoulder and out of the blankets, to fumble at the top drawer of the bedside table, where he'd folded his things neatly the night before. (Mello's clothes remain in his backpack, mostly, though a leather jacket gleams across the back of a chair, black jeans hanging crookedly over part of it.)

The Kinder Surprise fills Near's palm snugly when he cups his fingers around it. It feels almost impossibly light – he remembers having thought that the night before, too, as he'd carried it so carefully, not wanting it to break. Now he pulls it beneath the blankets, uncertain as to whether Mello has seen what he is holding or not. When he looks up, Mello's gaze is curious and open. Near marvels at the warmth that that simple curiosity slides through him, from his fingers to his toes and then back to his core, where it pools in a ball of sunshine at the base of his stomach.

“It isn't a very interesting present,” he feels the need to qualify. He slides deeper beneath the blankets, so that he can prop himself up on one of his elbows. He marvels at that too; the need to qualify something has never been a significant part of his nature. It's strange, the way that Mello looking at him like that – looking at him as if Near could do no wrong right now – is so much more unsettling than all of the frowns had ever, ever been. Near looks away again, his fingers uneasy on the egg's wrapper. He wonders, if he holds it for too long, will it begin to melt? Perhaps he should have tried this beforehand. What if it breaks at his first touch, and he ends up with Mello just laying there eating sweet shards from the bedclothes? Near supposes that the blond probably wouldn't complain, actually, but Near... Near wants to make a point. Even though if that point isn't entirely clear to himself yet.

“Well?” prompts Mello, a little impatiently now.

Near finds his smile beneath the familiarity of Mello's expression finally teetering on annoyance. He tucks his body in even closer. The knowledge that just a few well-placed wriggles, just one downward reach of his hand, would have Mello pushing his hips up against him and—

Near tugs at his hair to clear his mind, then pulls the egg out from beneath the sheets. He holds it up between his fingers, holds it as if it were made of something much more precious than chocolate. He realises, suddenly, that he has no precise idea as to exactly what the egg actually contains, though. All he knows is that the advertisement he'd seen in the train station had made his heart tip sideways a little – chocolate and toys, toys and chocolate.

[The city was very large, and the train station had been suffocatingly full of people. Near had been more than happy to cling to Mello's arm, though he'd pretended not to notice Mello's offer to hold his hand, because he hadn't been convinced that that would be entirely wise in public, given their genders and his own uncertainty as to whether Mello were carrying a weapon and therefore able to protect them from any potentially unpleasant situations. But then Mello had told him to _wait there_, as if he were a child, and had hurried away to buy more tickets. Near had resented that, despite the fact that his feet had been so sore that he'd been admittedly pleased not to be standing there while the queue moved forwards at snail's pace, and so he'd stood up again just to spite himself, and made a point of walking around. That was when he'd seen the glossy poster and had forgotten about being cranky; the girl in the cluttered little station store had called him sweet, and she'd smiled when he'd tucked the egg so carefully away.]

“Chocolate,” says Mello now, and grins broadly, his hand shooting out to grab it.

Near squeaks and wriggles away from him, sliding further beneath the sheets so that Mello can't snatch like that.

“Oi,” Mello complains, though his hips tilt up pleasantly against Near as Near slides downwards. Near can feel Mello growing firmer against the softness of his own upper belly. He kind of wants to put the egg aside and just slide lower, lower, and take Mello's dick tentatively in his hands – he can see it, in his mind, can imagine what it might be like to tip his head forwards a little, place his mouth against it, maybe suck. The thought makes him tingle, and he wonders if Mello can guess what he's thinking. Near wants to know what Mello tastes like, except that he's not sure that he's quite game enough for that yet. It bothers him that he can't make up his mind, though, and so he frowns and frowns, and orders his body to behave itself. He mutters, “You can't just_ take_ it like that, Mello.”

“You said it was a present.”

Mello is looking at him with eyes that make it perfectly clear that he isjust as conscious of Near's dick as Near is of Mello's.

Near wonders whether his lips will always go dry when Mello looks at him like that, or whether it's a phase that will pass. It makes his thoughts go a little fuzzy at the edges. He thinks he likes it. He thinks he might like it a lot. “It...well, yes,” Near says. He feels suddenly very stupid, hiding down here amongst the blankets, egg cradled in one hand, and resisting the urge to wriggle his body, so that he can feel Mello go even harder against him, is squeezing almost all his logic out of his mind. He licks at his lips, fingers flexing slightly around the egg, as though to remind him of what he's supposed to be focusing on. “I wanted to feed it to you,” he explains, feeling even dumber.

There's a warm silence. Then Mello reaches down, takes hold of Near beneath the shoulders, and pulls him up and flips him over all at once, so that Near is on his back against the cotton, blinking slowly. Mello hovers over him, blankets caught around his shoulders, so close but not actually touching Near at all now. His hair gleams yellow in the increasingly bright light. This isn't what Near had planned, not even remotely, but his breath is hitched in his throat anyway, and he realises suddenly that a lot of things haven't gone quite how he had planned; Mello throws everything out of kilter. As Mello's lips twitch into a smile – as Mello traces a hand along the side of Near's face, trailing it, smoothing it down onto Near's neck, then Near's shoulder, then out along the length of Near's arm, which is cast across the white sheets like the man on the cross dangling from Mello's neck – as Mello sways his hips forwards to brush tantalisingly against Near's – as Mello looks at him with _those eyes like that_—

Near begins to realise that things haven't gone how he'd planned purely because he had, strangely, never aimed high enough.

Near rocks his own hips upwards and parts his lips for a kiss, and Mello smoothes his body against him like the downwards sway of a pendulum's arc. He brings his mouth towards Near's, just like Near wants, then hovers there, not touching, and whispers, “I just woke up. I won't taste any good.”

“You will, you'll taste like Mello,” Near says, and he feels that perhaps that's a silly thing to have said, but he also feels that it's the truth, and it's right, and he means it. All he wants is the warmth and the motion that the blond had introduced him to the night before (Mello's hands touching him, Mello's fingers buried deep, _Mello_ buried deep, and Near pushed to the edge of tears and sweet relief). All he wants is Mello's lips on his, like Mello had taught him in the shadows of a hallway before they'd left together and ended up here.

Mello looks at him, now, the curves of his mouth almost teasing, but his eyes gleaming in a way that makes the ball of sunshine in Near's belly flutter worryingly. And suddenly part of Near wants another year or two to work this out, or at least eight months or so, but that doesn't stop him from reaching his free hand up and tangling it in Mello's hair.

Every inch of him hates the obvious contradictions in his actions and within his own mind. He hates how illogical it is, how Mello can turn things around like this, because it was supposed to be Near doing something for Mello, and somehow it's as though it's become Mello doing something for Near instead. But as much as it frustrates him, Near is starting to develop the ghost of a conviction, in the corner of his mind, that this might be how life with Mello is simply _supposed_ to work: all turned on its head and warm skinned.

“Can I have the egg now?” Mello asks. His hand has come to a halt where Near's hand meets Near's arm. He has his fingers circled around the fine bones of Near's wrist, his thumb making soft, distracting circles.

Permission.

For Mello.

Near is used to other people requesting, inquiring, even deferring, but not Mello. Mello just takes, and pulls faces when he doesn't get his own way.

It's new, and it's frightening. Maybe all the more so because Near knows that he can actually say _no_. The weirdest thing is that he doesn't even want to, not now that Mello's hovering over him, his hair all mussed up and sunlit.

“No,” says Near in a wavering voice regardless, and finds himself smiling at the expression on Mello's face. Mello rocks against him, the bastard, the warm, firm skin of his dick ghosting alongside Near's. They're still neither of them fully hard, but Near thinks he will be if Mello does that a second time. He licks at his lips again, steadies his mind, and pushes his own hips upwards to halt Mello's next sway, and this time it's Mello's mouth which opens a little and makes a noiseless sound.

“No,” Near says again, believably this time.

Mello grins as if that's the best thing yet, and slides his hand back along Near's arm, away from the egg, and onto Near's chest. “So feed me already,” he says with a smirk.

Near brings his two hands together, catching his thumbnail beneath the edge of the white and orange wrapper, then catching his breath as Mello's dick rubs against his own yet again. “Y-you'll have to stop that,” he manages.

“Your body says you like it.”

Near hates Mello for approximately three point five seconds. “Yes,” he agrees shortly, annoyed. Then he gives in, rubs himself slowly against Mello in return, the pleasure growing heady as firm skin pushes against firm skin, and clarifies, in a small, frustratingly needy voice, “But I don't want to come from just _pressing_ against you.”

Mello laughs. “Just pressing against me is a perfectly good reason to get off, in my opinion. But if you'd prefer...”

Near lets out an undignified noise as Mello is suddenly the one beneath the sheets, the blankets pulled even more crooked, and oh God, oh God, is that what it feels like? Mello's mouth is so hot against him, one of Mello's hands wrapped close around the base of Near's dick, and Mello's tongue and lips are doing things – God – things – that make Near buck and squirm, and it takes every ounce of his self control not to clench his fingers around the egg and crush it.

“The chocolate—” Near begins, but Mello just presses his free hand down against Near's hip, then lifts his head long enough to answer, voice muffled from beneath the sheets, “Is not going anywhere. You're first course, it can be dessert.”

Near lets out a shuddery moan as Mello's mouth sinks back down onto him, sucking him in. Near drops the egg onto the other pillow before shoving roughly at the sheets, pushing them down. He tells himself it's because he's suddenly hot, and it's true that the cold air is brilliant against his heated skin but in reality he just wants to see, _ahh_, just wants to watch. The muscles in his neck are screaming at him as he forces his gaze down, because all they want to do is fling his head back and stare wide-eyed at the ceiling, but that sight, that sight, Mello's hair swaying with motion, Mello's hand so tight against him, Mello's mouth so wet and snug as he lets Near push, as he takes Near in deeper, oh, _oh_, oh God he's never going to forget it, and, _ahhh_—

“Good?” asks Mello, after a moment, settling down on his side against Near's hip, one of his hands playing against Near's belly.

Near's chest is trembling and he just nods, not trusting himself to speak because he thinks it would come out all wobbly. Mello rises up onto one elbow and leans in and sucks gently at Near's bottom lip. Near nudges their mouths closer, then asks in a shivery whisper, “I thought you didn't want to kiss me?”

Mello traces his tongue against Near's lips, and Near can actually feel him smiling. “I don't taste like _me_ anymore,” he says smugly, and Near only has a second to consider that and blush before Mello is kissing him, and Near tastes himself on Mello's tongue and whimpers.

When Mello pulls away again, he reaches around, picks up the chocolate egg from the pillow, and holds it out for Near to take.

“You're still...” Near says in a trailing way, one of his hands reaching down to brush at Mello's hard-on, and he blushes even more, though it makes no sense, really, to feel that it's that big a deal after the other things they've already done. But he's never actually touched anyone like that, not even last night; he'd been too busy being overwhelmed. Now he _does_ touch, his hand against the head of Mello's dick and then closing around it and stroking it once, just to see what it feels like.

Mello makes a pleased noise deep in his throat. He moves his mouth to Near's ear and whispers, his voice vibrating against Near's skin, “Why don't you feed me first? And then, if you're not too sore from last night...”

Near's ears are hot, and he tightens his fingers around Mello's dick without even meaning to, making Mello moan. For the first time Near realises just how much the power balance goes both ways. It isn't only Mello making his brains melt but maybe, maybe, just maybe he can do the same thing Mello in return. Either way, the memory of Mello having put it inside of him the night before makes his sensitised skin tingle, so he strokes his hand up the length of Mello's dick one last time and then lets go. He takes the egg from Mello, and peels the wrapper away completely this time.

“Smells nice,” Mello murmurs.

Near grins slowly. “You think that all chocolate smells nice,” he says. He smoothes the wrapper out flat, and places it neatly on the bedside table. Mello watches him in silence. Near just watches the egg, studying it carefully, and remembering his concern that it might just explode if he attempts to crack it with his fingers. He doesn't want to risk it. He's too conscious of Mello's attention upon him, too conscious of the heat of Mello's body against him, and so he licks at his lips again, sets his teeth to the egg's narrowest point, and bites out a small hole as delicately as he can.

Mello exhales in a stuttery way, and his dick twitches against Near's hip. Near glances up at him in surprise.

“May I?” the blond breathes out, his eyes bright with want. Near's own eyes widen, but he nods mutely and simply opens his mouth a little, the chocolate smooth against his tongue, and Mello puts his hands against Near's face unsteadily and kisses him. It's a warm kiss, so warm, and Near just gives in and closes his eyes, sinking into the white space that Mello has created in his mind, all warmth and that ball of sunshine risen northwards. Mello's tongue plays with Near's teeth and the chocolate, and then finally pulls back. He has a delighted look on his face and he's sucking what's left of the chocolate in his own mouth. Near watches him suck, heat pooling slowly in the base of his stomach again and, even though he's still tingling from having only just orgasmed, he wants to put the egg aside and drag Mello down and make Mello do the things to him that Mello did to him the night before.

“Yeah,” approves Mello in a husky voice, swiping his thumb against the corner of Near's mouth and then sucking at that too. He's watching Near intently, missing, Near is certain, absolutely nothing; not the way that Near's heart is pounding in his chest, not the way that Near's mind is all soft with want and expectation and with the need, the pressing need to show Mello that he understands, understands how to love.

Love.

The unexpected appearance of the word in his mind startles him, and the egg slips away. 

Mello frowns, scoops it up again, and presses it back into Near's hands, wrapping Near's fingers around it more securely. “It's like us, don't you think?” the blond says in a light tone, as if he wants to pretend he's being playful, despite the fact that his eyes are saying the absolute opposite. “Chocolate and toys, toys and chocolate.”

Near knows, from the expression in Mello's eyes, he knows that Mello is saying this to tell Near that he's understood, even if Near himself had only just grasped it a heartbeat earlier; he's understood what Near's heart had been thinking when he'd bought it.

Near nods, and breaks a piece of chocolate away from the rim of the egg, and reaches it up to Mello's mouth, and Mello sucks it from his fingers. So they go, piece by piece, some falling amongst the bedsheets like Near had feared, but most of them sliding from his fingertips into the warmth of Mello's mouth. Near's fingers are wet and hot and he doesn't mind at all, and the air between them smells of chocolate and sex and sleep and morning, and Near can't speak anymore, but it doesn't matter, because apparently Mello can't either, or he's chosen not to. Near feeds him piece by little piece until the egg is half gone, and the opening is large enough to let the small, yellow canister slip free.

“You should open it,” Mello prompts, accepting the half-egg of chocolate that Near hands him, and considering it with a thoughtful look on his face.

Near presses his fingers against the plastic, then pauses. “No,” he says softly, speaking even though he doesn't know why he's saying what he is. “I want to leave it closed.”

Mello places the half-egg in the middle of the other pillow, and his eyebrows wander towards his hair. His gaze stays still and curious, though.

“I want...” Near searches for the words, but to find the words he would first have to find his own explanation, and he's having some difficulty with that. “I want to leave it unopened,” he says. “I've never had something I didn't know the workings of, before now, not really. I can't explain, but somehow it feels right. I… don't know,” he finishes, pathetically, and hopes that Mello won't laugh at him, because that might actually hurt a little bit.

Mello doesn't laugh. Mello closes his eyes and presses his face down against Near's chest with a frightening silence. Near wants to cry at the sheer frustration of not being able to understand _himself_, let alone the rest of it, and he's ruined it now, hasn't he?, but then Mello is looking at him again, and crooking his thumb beneath Near's eyes, and dabbing at the embarrassing saltiness there, and Near feels like a fool again, and he hates it, hates it, hates being so suddenly inadequate after a lifetime of knowing exactly where he stood.

“Hey,” Mello is saying, “Hey, hey, hey.” He has his hands on Near's face again. “You know,” he says, when Near finally focusses on him properly. “You're such an idiot sometimes, Near.”

Near flinches, and Mello frowns, and shakes his head quickly, “I don't mean... I don't mean you're _stupid_, stupid. It's just that you... sometimes you seem so automatically good at everything,” there's an expression on Mello's face that says he doesn't really want to be admitting this, “that I think you forget – I know I forget – that you're so _new_ to this and I, well,” he pauses, and a look of frustration sweeps across his own face, and Near goes from being annoyed to feeling sudden empathy. After a second, Mello shrugs and adds quietly, “You don't always have to find the words, you know? You're allowed to just show me. Show me... what you feel for me, Near.” And he breaks a shard free from the egg and puts it on the tip of Near's tongue and kisses him again, even slower this time, so slow and gentle, until the chocolate goes warm in Near's mouth. Near raises his knee and curls his leg around Mello's body, as Mello curls his tongue and pulls the chocolate into his own mouth.

“Yes,” says Near, “I... yes.”

And Mello nods, and strokes him, and runs his hands everywhere, and kisses, and rubs, and loves. And Near can feel himself falling apart beneath the honeyed tenderness, and he'd only dreamt, oh, only dreamt that Mello could be like this, and it hurts, and it's wonderful. “Yes,” he says again, and, “Please,” his mouth against Mello's skin. Mello cradles Near's backside in his hands, and the lube is warm on Mello's fingers, and Mello himself is warmer, pressing in, _filling_, and Near still aches from the night before, yes, but that's okay, that's okay, because it's real, and it's Mello, and this is what Near wants, this, here, now, Mello touching him, Mello inside of him. Near wraps his legs around Mello's back and pulls him closer, and together they find a rhythm of hips and shoulders and heat and _push_, and Near doesn't know what he's moaning but he doesn't care either, just Mello, Mello, Mello, chocolate and kindness and cotton sheets. And when he opens his eyes wide to sear it in his memory, the morning sun is blazing gold on Mello's hair, and Mello's eyes are closed just as if he were praying, and Near slides over the edge of orgasm at the touch of that adulation against him, against him, inside of him and deep.

**

The midday sun plays across Near's bare ribs as he sits on the edge of the bed and towels his hair dry. Mello watches him surreptitiously, enjoying the feel of Near's eyes upon his own shirtlessness, as he searches through his bag for something he feels like wearing today. Mello admires the shift of Near's arms as he dries his hair; he likes the self-contradicting softness and masculinity that line Near's body, although he's entirely certain that Near himself is oblivious to it. He has a suspicion that even now Near still sees himself as a child, despite the fact that the aeroplane on the dresser has stayed there, forgotten, since they walked into this room.

Mello doesn't think he minds. He thinks he's happy to see what nobody else can see. To see what even Near cannot. It reassures him somehow.

“Where should we go next?” Mello finds himself asking.

Near studies him for a long, long moment, letting the towel hang loosely around his shoulders, his curls damp. “I don't mind.” Then, “I've always wanted to go to Nürnberg. To the toy museum...”

“You would,” Mello teases, and the world slots into place, so much better than he has ever dared imagine, when Near studies him thoughtfully for a second, then grins and actually pokes his tongue out.

Mello doesn't say a word, though, later, when they're both dressed and packed to go, and Near comes up from behind, wrapping his arms around him and sliding the plastic yellow canister into one of the pockets on Mello's vest. He zips it shut and places a silent kiss on the back of Mello's neck. Mello turns to kiss him in return, but is interrupted by Near sliding his hands down lower, to feel up the knife that Mello has concealed at the back of his trousers. “You're armed,” Near says, and it's not a question, nor an accusation. Mello doesn't quite know what to make of it, but he decides not to bother asking when Near just grins and knits his fingers in amongst Mello's.

Near holds Mello's hand the whole way to the train station. He doesn't let go even when he falls asleep somewhere around Fulda, his head warm against Mello's shoulder, and that's when Mello gives in and sends Matt a text to be forwarded on to their boss and mentor,  
_  
Don't wait up, we're going to be home very, very late._

 


End file.
